When I was working with Deutsche Bank Manila as assistant vice president for corporate communications, I was fortunate to be included in their Emerging Leaders Program (ELP) for high‑potential professionals. It was a five‑month intensive leadership course run by Harvard’s executive education arm, designed to strengthen leadership skills among rising executives.
One of the business case studies we tackled was how Starbucks rose and expanded under the leadership of its former CEO, Howard Schultz. I’ll never forget a tip on leadership he shared: “Get your hands dirty. Listen with empathy and overcommunicate with transparency.” He was talking about business, but the lesson fits politics and public service just as well. In times of crisis, quick action, empathy, and communication aren’t extras. They’re the whole point of leadership.
For two straight weeks, Metro Manila and neighboring provinces endured continuous rain. By last weekend, floodwaters were everywhere. They swamped not only the National Capital Region but Pampanga, Bulacan, Nueva Ecija, and other parts of Central Luzon. Families were displaced, barangays submerged, and relief stretched thin. In moments like these, people look to their leaders not only for aid but for presence, humility, and solidarity.
Yet alongside heartbreaking videos of evacuations, collapsing houses, and submerged communities, the public saw viral clips and photos that told a different story.
On August 26, President Marcos Jr. was filmed singing at First Lady Liza Marcos’ lavish birthday in Forbes Park, the enclave of society’s Who’s Who. There’s nothing wrong with celebrating a family milestone, but guests should have been sensitive enough not to post those footages online while so many Filipinos were in deep water. The Palace defended him, saying the President is the President wherever he is, and that spending time with family doesn’t stop government operations. Maybe true on paper, but again, the optics. While floods hit Pampanga and Bulacan, the country saw its leader crooning at a private party. Tone‑deaf is the word many used. Knowing the Marcoses’ flair for grand parties, someone from the Palace’s public relations team should have advised against such a spectacle in the first place.
Then came Pampanga’s own “Fashion Week.” Governor Lilia Pineda, Vice Governor Delta Pineda, and San Fernando Mayor Vilma Caluag were photographed inspecting flood zones dressed in luxury brands — Prada, Balmain, and Burberry. Social media didn’t miss a beat. “Fashion Week,” netizens called it. Sarcasm, yes, but also anger. Because when people are soaked and hungry, designer labels look like indifference.
Nicole Caluag said her mother’s outfit was old, not meant to flaunt wealth. Governor Pineda admitted it was a “wake‑up call,” though she insisted the clothes weren’t that expensive. Both statements tried to soften the blow, but the damage was done. Optics matter, and in times of crisis, perception is reality.
What we’re seeing isn’t just a handful of missteps here and there, it’s a pattern that keeps repeating itself. Our officials manage to be physically present, but their presence doesn’t resonate with the people they’re supposed to serve. They go to the flood zones, they issue statements, they try to show concern — yet somehow it all feels disconnected. The words don’t land, the gestures don’t carry weight, and the public ends up feeling that leaders are standing apart rather than standing with them. What’s missing is the human side of leadership: empathy, humility, and a basic grasp of how public relations works in the age of social media. And this isn’t about spin or clever messaging. It’s about being mindful of how actions look to ordinary citizens who are struggling, and about making sure those actions reflect genuine solidarity rather than detachment.
Maybe it’s time for these public officials to have a crash course in public relations and crisis communication. Because in this age of social media, every gesture is amplified. Every outfit, every song, every word becomes a symbol. And symbols can either build trust or break it.
Filipinos have long judged leaders not just by policy but by presence. We remember who stood in the mud, who spoke plainly, who looked like they belonged with us. We also remember those who looked detached, who seemed insulated, who showed up in Prada while others had only slippers or bare feet. History is full of these contrasts. Optics may sound shallow, but in politics, optics are empathy made visible.
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